


Snapshot

by dstrider (articulateSeer)



Series: JohnDave Oneshots [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Awkward Dave, College, Crush at First Sight, M/M, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 09:25:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3564545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/articulateSeer/pseuds/dstrider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is a college student with an assignment: take pictures of someone you love.</p><p>Only one person really comes to mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshot

Photography, while being one of your interests, wasn’t in the top three. Or even top five. It took time, effort and a bunch of money that you just didn’t have. The camera you lugged around was old, a dusty model you’d had since you were thirteen, and now in college it was practically ancient. Hella-fucking-old-polaroid camera that 100% required the use of a darkroom that you sort of had but didn’t really. The thing was so old you had trouble getting it out in class, it was incredibly embarrassing no matter how many times you passed it off as being ‘vintage’. You just sounded like a sour-assed hipster. A lot of your classmates thought your photos were cool and edgy, but that was just because you had no interest in ever cleaning the camera’s lens, and because you lived a shitty apartment at the top of a very old building with cannabis growing on numerous floors. It made for a very nice ‘grunge’ look, even though you knew it was half-assed and practically the least interesting thing you could ever take a photo of. You were just lazy, you guessed.  


Your next assignment had a specific set of rules: Someone you love. They had to either be in the form of profiles or easier for you saying as you had no friends or in fact people you loved: people doing things. Like walking. Or drinking coffee. You think you could easily snap a few shots of some peeps at Starbucks or on the sidewalk outside your building and lie about the identities. Like hey, this is totally a picture of my dear sweetheart, look at them. 

The first few times you did this your camera suffered a few punches to the lens (so did you).

So that idea was officially wadded up into a ball and thrown into the trashcan.

You sat on the campus grass propped against a tree, thinking over who you could ask. You could ask someone in your photography class, but that was just incredibly lazy and predictable – you didn’t want to seem like you worked as much as you had friends. Even though that was exactly what you were doing originally.  
Why didn’t you have friends.

Although…there was somebody you’ve been wanting to ask since you’d gotten the assignment. You’ve been wanting to ask several things, but for now you’re taking it one step at a time. Asking for a picture isn’t creepy, is it? Fuck it, you’re sure he’d be cool with it – you might even get something in return. Coffee for the trouble, you’ll say. Hey, why don’t I treat you to a movie? And then you’ll be a suave motherfucker and go on a date, making him swoon like a pregnant women with heatstroke. Then you can take pictures of him as much as you like.

You think you know why you don’t have friends.

You take a sip of your cooling coffee beside you, setting it in the crook of the tree you were leaned against and think about were the kid might be. You had two classes with him; English literature and music. You had neither of those classes right now, so trying to figure where the fuck he could be was like trying to find inner peace.

You downed your beverage and stood up, crunching the polystyrene in your hand and donning your backpack and camera bag, tossing the empty cup into the trash on your way past. It would have nicer to take a picture of him outside; the sun was out, leaving rays scoring across the pathways to and from the different blocks. Meh, maybe another day.  
Maybe you’ll just check the classrooms, hey, the music building was right there anyway – he could be doing extra credit work or something! You know the teacher adores him for the sweet piano skills he has (and so do you, but you’ve never heard more than a few notes of it).

You could hear it before you’d even opened the door to the room; it was loud and fast, as if he was hammering the keys with his fingers. You were afraid he was in a bad mood, or he was going to swing one at you if you got too close, so you hung back, opening the door to the studio slowly and waiting until he was finished…You were supposed to take a picture of someone doing something, weren’t you?

Being as swift and stealthy as you were born to be, you quietly unzipped your camera bag, putting your mediocre equipment together silently as his piano playing rose to a deafening shout of energy. Jesus, this guy’s got some serious skills. You might have to ask him to play something for you someday…so you can use it in a song, obviously. Piano/dubstep would be sweet.  
Snap.

You’re thankful the room echoed, the piano booms were loud enough that he’d never be able to hear your camera. You shifted your foot for a better angle, crouching to the ground for a low look at him. Sure, getting the piano keys in would be nice, especially at a high angle, but you kind wanted to see his face…such a great face, damn.

Snap.

These pictures are gonna look so good, you can feel yourself get that A+ you deserve already and the assignment was only issued yesterday.

Snap.

His fingers stopped. Your heart, also, stopped beating. It had previously been keeping up with the tempo of his playing, but right now both had stopped and you were dead. You could probably think of a number of words and phrases afterwards to describe how the scene went down afterwards, but it would take you a number of days or even weeks to even want to think about it again. He sat in silence, back to you and hands frozen over the keys of the piano, listening for the sound of someone else in the room. You were _right_ there. So close to him that you could hear him breathing, hear the quiet ticking of his watch on his wrist. It was melodic, and you slowly started to rise behind him, preparing to zip out of the still open door and ditch you things for the sake of being free from this situation. But he turned around, and you died all over again.

It was a slow turn; either that or life had suddenly gone into slow motion. His expression was wide open, curious and sweet as if he could never feel rage or a temper at anything at all. How did you even think he was in a bad mood? Look at him! Innocence is his name. His eyes, you noticed at first, were a bright blue; kind of like how your own eyes were so red except of course his were a normal colour (that didn’t stop you from feeling warmth in the pit of your stomach spread all the way through your body, just from making contact with them though.)

Snap.

It was a stupid thing to do, but you just _had_ to capture that moment, it would probably sit with you for the rest of your life if you hadn’t. Plus, you’d like to be able to remember the moment in a physical form rather than just memory. Memory isn’t always reliable.

“Uh,” he said, hands still ghosting over his keys. You hadn’t said anything after taking the last picture, just cradled your camera, wishing you could move as fast as your Bro. Your flash-stepping wasn’t as great as it used to be – if only the power was within you, you could leave this messy situation and think about his blue eyes in your room, alone. In person they struck you dead for the third time. Too much power. Too much. Can’t take it, nooo…

“Can I help you? Uh…Dave?” He seemed unsure about the name, but you knew his, of course you did, there wasn’t even a doubt; and even if he’d gotten it wrong and called you Winfrey or some other stupid shit like that, you would still appreciate the effort and cry about it later. More to the point, he knows your actual name, not David like your tutors call you. That was special. You’re glad you snapped the shot.

You could feel yourself going red with each passing second, and it would have been good to abscond. But…you couldn’t. So you spoke. A lot of bullshit, and a lot of piss-worthy words that you cannot take back.

“Uh, nah. No, think we’re about done here. I mean me. I’m about done. Got what I wanted, pictures that is – for class. Hm? I’m not taking random pictures of you John what are you saying that would be strange and uncool of me to do, who do you think I am? I mean yeah, I like to take pictures as a hobby but not of you, God, can you imagine how strange that would be? Pretty weird, yeah. Um. Not that I wouldn’t take pictures of you. If you wanted me to. But I’m not going to…I mean I did, but…gotta go, see you in Lit’ or Music or whatever class we have together next. Later.”

And. That’s it. John gave you a strange look that made you want to throw several punches at yourself and destroy all evidence of you online and in the real world; delete your blogs, and social networking, and erase all traces of Dave Strider. It wasn’t that it was a bad look, more like…amused. Yeah, just…his tiny smile that just about reached his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly, giving you a reason to feel like you’d just ran a marathon to Canada. You could hear the laugh bubbling in his chest, but you gathered your things and left before it could happen and destroy all humanity you had left in your body.

This kid would be the death of you. And you hated every moment of it. Preparing those photographs would drive you to insanity – you cannot believe that you of all people have a fucking crush. On _him_. God.

**Author's Note:**

> No offense to anyone named Winfrey.


End file.
